


This Isn't About Anything

by ZeroSystem



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 09:42:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9317138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeroSystem/pseuds/ZeroSystem
Summary: When canon spans a hundred years, shuffling together the characters you like best can get weird. (Grave!wald/young-ish Severus Snape, explicit sex.)





	

_How did I get here?_

Not literally.

Literally, he Apparated, then came up the walkway, then went through the front door. Figuratively. How did he figuratively get here. With an American man just shy of twice his age, born in a disparate century, running his hands down Severus's sides around to his hips and back so that he can pull his shirt out of his trousers. Graves's hands dive beneath his clothes to palm over his pale skin, proprietary, and Severus raises his own to whisk his fingers over the shaved silver sides of his head before tangling in the rest of it, mussing the slicked-back dark locks. Graves likes that, his breath always catches the tiniest bit when Severus drags his nails over his scalp, and now is no exception. He walks them back and pushes Severus into a wall – not as hard as he could, because he knows Severus doesn't actually like _being hurt_ – and presses the whole length of himself against the younger wizard, licks into his mouth, clenches his hands at his sides. Their kiss is breathless and messy and sensually competitive; Graves likes his tongue being sucked on and Severus likes the feeling of nearly choking, and kissing between them can never be anything besides over-passionate and bruising. 

His lungs are burning when they finally pull apart, the both of them breathing in ragged, uneven bursts, and Severus can't help the harsh noise that escapes him when Graves grinds his hips down against him. He digs one heel against the base of the wall to buck up into him, both men groaning now as they rut against each other. Graves begins undressing him again, his touch demanding as he pulls Severus's shirt off his shoulders and down, growling a little into his jaw as he has to forcibly still their hard movements to unbuckle his belt, unbutton his trousers. He gets the lot of it undone and pushes down, rough and too impatient to get it past the swell of his thighs before he grips Severus's arse and yanks him in again– he gasps, his suddenly exposed cock, already hard and flushed, thrust against the other's still-clothed one. With an exhale of something like laughter, Severus draws his hands down from the other man's head and strokes over the front of his pristine suit: a silent, invisible shudder of magic slips between them, divesting Graves entirely and leaving him with garments sliding away like retreating vines. 

_( “These things you're asking me to do.” Severus drew the edge of his thumbnail down the spine of a book on his desk. He could see Graves pause, could watch the back of his head as he tilted slightly to listen. “You don't have to bribe me or try to make me emotionally confused. That sort of thing won't take with me in the first place and besides, I'm doing it anyway. This isn't necessary.”_

_“I know.” The Auror – the purported Auror – did not turn around, but kept walking further into the high shelved labyrinth of the old library. Severus could no longer see him, but that low voice drifted back: “That's what makes it good.” )_

They're on each other again. Graves is shoved up against him, hips fit against Severus, hard lengths pressing and sliding as they fuck against one another. Graves has his face wedged against the younger wizard's throat, nose pressed beneath his jaw; Severus always forgets he's a little taller because Graves has such a _presence_ , he could be eight feet, honestly, the fact that he doesn't hit six never occurs to anyone who looks at him. Merlin, this is incredible. The weight and heat of it, the sweat building, eagerness becoming determined desperation. Severus wasn't a virgin when Graves first slid to his knees and pushed apart his thighs, but it was never anything like _this_. 

His trousers and underwear have been shifted to the floor by now and he's able to step out of them, and just in time, because the grunting sounds the older wizard is making are putting him close to the edge– his cock twitches and he gasps, one hand darting back up to grip his hair. Graves stops, though, ignoring Severus's immediate profane objection. He makes a low noise in warning and Severus stills but doesn't calm, his whole body tense with desire. Graves rocks his hips, gaze pinned on their erections sliding against each other, swiveling until he's got them lined up how, apparently, he wants them. He spits, then, saliva dripping down on them, and he does it again, and again, the glistening liquid landing along his own length and at the tip of Severus's, sliding down the both of them. It's disgusting. Severus moans, and thinks his cock gets even harder.

When Graves gets his hand around them it's wet and an absolute mess, the both of them moving in a frantic rhythm he's sure is going to leave bruises on his hipbones. “ _Oh_ ,” he hears himself gasp, one hand fisted in Graves's hair, the other clutching his shoulder, nails biting in, one foot pressed against the wall he's being half-crushed into, giving him leverage to snap his hips up and up and _up_ as Graves grinds down onto him ruthlessly, like an animal. Severus comes, sudden and sharp like a branch snapping, the gut-punch of it so intense it almost hurts. Graves makes some inhuman sound and impossibly fucks himself against Severus harder, hand milking every drop of come out of him and rubbing it over his own cock, already wet and dripping, until he slams into orgasm as well. He shudders and twitches and Severus holds him through it, panting. 

_( Graves made the first move and he was, Severus thought, equally startled about it. Later, when he had his hand coiled in Severus's hair (proving some point Severus didn't understand), he said he was shocked not because he did it, but because he felt a spark when he did. And then he pressed their mouths together again, feeling nothing at all like the stoic and elegant man he ever looked to be. )_

When they can breathe without feeling dizzy, Graves loops one arm around his middle and moves them in a swirl of magic to tumble onto his bed. Neither man is the sort to become queasy through Apparating, and good thing, as despite the ferociousness of their rutting in the front hall, it's quickly apparent neither are satisfied just yet. Well, Severus could be, if Graves weren't possessively pawing all over him and riling his interest back up. It's not personal. Everything Graves touches, he owns, even if it's only for that moment. _They're_ not personal. This isn't the all-consuming tenderness and fire he felt for Lily, and for Graves it isn't

Severus tries not to think about that. 

The point is, this is only what it is. Their alliance (both fronts of it) is conducted in shadow, and their passion hinges on the magic they can both feel. They can taste it in each other, every dark contour, every bittersweet sparking edge, the intoxicating power and the perfect rightness of it. Severus speaks to magic like a lover and Gellert Grindelwald is the most pure and raw magic he's ever touched.

Of course he bloody knows. He's not an _idiot_.

“Are you sure you're really forty-three,” Severus mock-complains as he feels Graves's cock twitch and fill against his thigh. The older man dips his head to lave his tongue over one of Severus's nipples– he gasps, the over-intense pleasure of it always making him feel like he's going to gag, and he tries to wrestle away.

“No,” Graves says calmly, even as he grapples for Severus's hands and wins, pinning them by his shoulders so that he can bend to suck and bite at his nipples. His one-word denial is tinged in humor, and Severus can practically _feel_ the sideways smile against his chest as he yells at him what an awful prick he is, despite the fact that it's making his erection rapidly spring back to life. A little too rapidly, perhaps, as it aches. But he sort of it likes it.

Graves finally lets up when Severus threatens to hex him and actually begins to gather the spell in his fingertips, stretching out bodily over him and laying down, lazily rocking his hips against the alchemist's. They kiss, sloppy and familiar, and he works his mouth down his jaw and throat while Severus reaches with his left hand to grope his arse and slip fingertips between his firm cheeks. (It's important, while unclothed, to keep his left arm busy doing something if he can; the first and only time Graves had licked over the Mark it was too much in a way that made Severus feel like he was going to come and also perhaps never have an erection again all at once.) He strokes over the tender skin there, finding the tightly puckered hole and rubbing gently, one fingertip pressing in. Graves makes a pleased sound and hitches his knees wider, giving Severus more room to pet and stimulate him there. He presses lower, fingers finding the space behind his balls, and Graves moans and grinds his hips down before suddenly pushing up onto his knees and bullying Severus over to lay on his stomach. He goes easily, his grumbling really only for show– Graves is not inversatile, but his dominant nature is often the loudest voice in his head. Or in his cock, as it were. 

The way he kisses down Severus's spine is too– too what? Intimate is the wrong word, it doesn't get more intimate than sex with intent. Sweet, maybe. He doesn't know why he thinks it, and he's almost relieved when Graves sits back on his heels and pushes his thighs apart. Severus settles on his forearms and glances over his shoulder, watching the man in all his middle-aged glory as he silently _accios_ the lubrication. And it is glory. He likes the softening but still-present lines of his muscles, his heavy brow, the grey hair mingled with black over his chest and down to his groin. Doesn't matter whose it is, aesthetically, because without the way he carries himself and without the power that crackles beneath his skin, none of those things would matter. Severus, who does not so much as turn his head at anyone over physical beauty, has only begun to find these things worthy of appreciation since getting to know him. Ridiculous. 

Lube obtained, he turns his head back around and settles with a pillow in his arms, a small shiver running up his spine when broad hands part his cheeks. But then he finds himself making a noise he'll swear he never made, later, because it's not slick fingers that press against his hole but a warm, wet tongue. “Fuck,” he groans, and he can _feel_ Graves giving a low, dark laugh, face pressed shamelessly into his ass. Severus will do this, having no objection to any one sex act over the other, but Graves seems to bloody _love_ it. He'll put his mouth on anything, Severus has discovered, whether it's sloppily choking on his cock or reveling in eating him out, and he doesn't have to compare notes to know that Graves is much, much better at this than he is. He spreads his knees wider and moans into the pillow, trying not to move too much but struggling as that hot tongue probes him, pushing into the ring of muscle, wetting him, saliva sliding down over Graves's chin, onto his balls. He feels Graves moan in echo of his own and the bed being disturbed, and he knows Graves his humping the mattress. Severus has to shove his hand over his mouth when the older wizard finally sits up, stifling an embarrassing noise. Finally a lube-soaked finger breeches him, massaging in and out and around, and Severus shifts his hips and groans, “Hurry up.” Graves could just do it with magic, damn him, but there's something about this he's professed to preferring. 

He gets up to two fingers and an honestly ridiculous amount of lubrication, in Severus's opinion, and he says so over his shoulder. “You're so excited,” Graves says, his gaze fixed on where he's pressing a third digit into Severus's asshole. “It's making you too fucking tight.” 

“Fuck you,” he growls, and Graves his flashes him one of those small, jagged, diamond-rare smiles before slapping one asscheek with his other hand. It earns him a withering glare but he must be just as desperate to get a move on, because where he'd normally prolong the teasing just to be a prick, he pulls his fingers free and drizzles slick fluid onto his bobbing erection. Severus can't help but watch as he lines the tip of his cock up and presses _in_ , even though the intense pleasure-pain of it is so overwhelming that he straightens his neck and lets his head drop onto his forearms, breathing deeply as the man gets the head inside of him. He was right, Severus _is_ tight, which he thinks is particularly absurd of biology, making all the important bits clench up too much. Graves has to rock his hips, pistoning until he's halfway in and then he leans forward with his hands braced on either side of Severus's shoulders, letting gravity and leverage force him in deeper. Merlin, but his cock's big. Not that Severus has a rich history to compare. Still. He grunts and thrusts his hips back, dealing with the bright but temporary flare of pain, and Graves concedes to it and snaps forward, shoving himself in nearly all the way to the hilt, balls slapping against his ass. Severus gasps and Graves moans something half-growled as he rocks against him over and over, forcing that big cock in all the way until he's flush with Severus's arse. He stills, just holding and enjoying the clench around his dick as Severus pants, and then he begins to grind. 

It's so, so deep. Severus isn't sure anything is supposed to _be_ this deep inside him, because the intense pleasure constantly borders on pain, and it feels like the blunt head of Graves's cock is magnetically connected to his prostate with how often it slams into it. He's bottomed before (again: not a lot) and it's always been mediocre at best, and now _this_ , Graves and his thick, hard length making him feel like he's about to come with every fuck into him. He clutches the bedsheets and arches his spine, tenaciously refusing to come so soon, not wanting it to be over this quickly but mostly just not wanting to embarrass himself. The man's ego is plenty big already along with his goddamn prick, thanks. Graves is rocking back and forth now, pulling that thick length out a few inches then thrusting back in as far as he can go. It's a steady, luxurious pace, and Severus is getting truly excellent friction with his own cock leaking and rubbing against the soft bedding beneath him, and he could probably do this forever. Oh, _fuck_.

Severus can tell when the energy has changed when Graves resettles his weight and shifts his knees and ah– yes, oh _yes_ – begins to really give it to him. Severus braces his elbows and knees and rocks back as best he can while he's prone, unable to just lay there, it just feels too good and he can't help himself. Graves pulls almost all the way out, slams back in, again, and again, making Severus shout with it every time he bottoms out, his hole already nearly stretched raw but it feels too damn good to stop. He can hear and feel Graves breathing just over his right ear, uneven and harsh as he fucks him more, more, faster, for a short while pressing in as close as he possibly can before snapping his hips over and over in short, vicious thrusts that make them both cry out. That's it, that's the edge, he knows because Graves suddenly can't control himself and he pounds into Severus mercilessly, groaning constantly now, cockhead striking his gland as though he's milking him. Severus grinds back onto him, getting slammed back down for every inch he bucks up, fucking and ruining the sheets under him, and oh, oh, _oh_ – 

His orgasm makes him see stars and his breath hitches on a moan, leaving him gasping through it, Graves still pounding him, just fucking the come right out of him. His thrusts become erratic, burying himself deeply and humping him frantically as the aftershocks begin to tremble through him, wanting that extra tightness, wanting to come. So badly. All but collapsed beneath him, Severus clenches around him deliberately, and hears Graves shout and swear as he drives in once, twice more, before he jerks and stills, coming hard and oh, fuck, there's so much of it, Severus can actually feel it. Graves pulls out and Severus gasps at the suddenness of it, only to feel a final weak, wet spurt of come against his exposed hole, and then Graves stuffs his cock back in with a groan. His strength leaves him then, and he melts bonelessly against Severus, fat length still nestled inside of him. Severus doesn't protest. Sore as he already is, it feels too fucking nice. 

They lay together for a long time, breathing and occasionally trading soft, wet kisses, until the mess between and beneath them reaches a stage where it's just plain filthy, and not filthy in an enjoyable way. A little shuffling, a little magic, and Severus is stretched out half on his side on clean sheets, Graves behind him. The older wizard is drawing symbols he only half-recognizes on his back with his fingertips, and when his hand sweeps lower he idly massages the tendons in his hips, the small of his back. When he's bored with that he coils his arm around Severus and shifts close, pressing kisses to the base of his neck. It's affectionate, honestly bizarre, and he only gets this way when he's really and truly fucked out, his brain obviously not yet connected with the rest of him. 

Severus pretends to be mostly asleep through it, drifting in the same sexually exhausted state. His half-lidded dark eyes stare at the far side of the room and focus on nothing. Just feeling, experiencing, committing to memory things no one will ever believe. As if somehow sensing his ruse, Graves pats around for one of his hands until Severus produces it, and he laces their fingers together. 

_( Two Aurors – real Aurors – walked in front of him; the faint chime of a Time-Turner reached his ears as the first pocketed their contraband. He was complaining about someone long-dead, and her poor choices._

_“Pathetic,” the second one said, “That's not even really what he looks like.”_

_'Well,' Severus thought, but did not dare say out loud, 'This is what **I** really look like, and he wanted me anyway.' )_

He doesn't know what it means. But it's something.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in an hour and no one's given it a beta read, and while I proof read it a couple times, I nevertheless apologize for the truckload of errors there are sure to be in it. And yes, I know that's an awful lot of s-apostrophe-ses, but something about "Percival" and "Snape" banging didn't scan right. 
> 
> This is a weird pairing. If anyone else out there enjoys it, let me know. I'll make room for you in the fort I've set up in this dumpster.


End file.
